Kit, run to your master, and bid him come to us,
I'm sure he'll be proud of the honour you do us,
And, captain, you'll do us the favour to stay,
And take a short dinner here with us to day;
You're heartily welcome; but as for good cheer,
You come in the very worst time of the year;
If I had expected so worthy a guest—'

'Lord! madam! your ladyship sure is in jest ;
You banter me, madam; the kingdom must grant-'
You officers, captain, are so complaisant !'
"Hist, hussey, I think I hear somebody coming-
No, madam: 'tis only Sir Arthur a-humming.
To shorten my tale (for I hate a long story)
The captain at dinner appears in his glory;
The dean and the doctor* have humbled their pride,
For the captain's entreated to sit by your side;
And, because he's their betters, you carve for him first:
The parsons for envy are ready to burst.

The servants amaz'd are scarce ever able

To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table;
And Molly and I have thrust in our nose,
To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es.
Dear madam, be sure he's a fine spoken man,
Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue ran;
And, ‘ madam,' says he, if such dinners you give,
You'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live.
I ne'er knew a parson without a good nose:
But the Devil's as welcome wherever he goes:
G-d d-n me! they bid us reform and repent,
But, z-s! by their looks they never keep Lent:
Mister curate, for all your grave looks I'm afraid
You cast a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid:

* Doctor Jinny, a clergyman in the neighbourhood. F.

I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand In mending your cassock, and smoothing your band, (For the dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny, That the captain suppos'd he was curate to Jinny) 'Whenever you see a cassock and gown,

A hundred to one but it covers a clown.

Observe how a parson comes into a room;

G-d d―n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom; A scholard, when just from his college broke loose, Can hardly tell how to cry boo to a goose;

*

Your Noveds, and Bluturks, and Omurs, and stuff,
By G-, they don't signify this pinch of snuff.
To give a young gentleman right education,
The army's the only good school in the nation:
My schoolmaster call'd me a dunce and a fool,
But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school;
I never could take to my book for the blood o' me.
And the puppy confess'd he expected no good o' me.
He caught me one morning coquetting his wife,
But he maul'd me, I ne'er was so maul'd in my life:
So I took to the road, and, what's very odd,
The first man I robb'd was a parson, by G—.
Now, madam, you'll think it a strange thing to say,
But the sight of a book makes me sick to this day.'

"Never since I was born did I hear so much wit,
And, madam, I laugh'd till I thought I should split.
So then you look'd scornful, and snift at the dean,
As who should say, ' Now, am I skinnyt and lean?”
But he durst not so much as once open his lips,
And the doctor was plaguily down in the hips."

*Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers. F.
Nicknames for my lady. F.

Thus merciless Hannah ran on in her talk,

Till she heard the Dean call," Will your ladyship walk ?"

Her ladyship answers, "I'm just coming down:"
Then, turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown,
Although it was plain in her heart she was glad,
Cry'd, "Hussy, why sure the wench is gone mad !
How could these chimeras get into your brains?-
Come hither, and take this old gown for your pains:
But the Dean, if this secret should come to his ears,
Will never have done with his gibes and his jeers :
For your life, not a word of the matter I charge ye:
Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy."

WE give the world to understand,
Our thriving Dean has purchas'd land;
A purchase, which will bring him clear
Above his rent four pounds a year;
Provided, to improve the ground,
He will but add two hundred pound;
And, from his endless hoarded store,
To build a house, five hundred more.
Sir Arthur too shall have his will,
And call the mansion Drapier's Hill:
That, when a nation, long enslav'd,
Forgets by whom it once was sav'd;
When none the Drapier's praise shall sing,
His signs aloft no longer swing,

His medals and his prints forgotten,
And all his handkerchiefs* are rotten,
His famous letters made waste paper,
This hill may keep the name of Drapier;
In spite of envy, flourish still,

And Drapier's vie with Cooper's hill.

THE DEAN'S REASONS

FOR NOT BUILDING AT DRAPIER'S HILL.

I WILL not build on yonder mount:
And, should you call me to account,
Consulting with myself, I find,
It was no levity of mind.

Whate'er I promis'd or intended,

No fault of mine the scheme is ended:
Nor can you tax me as unsteady,
I have a hundred causes ready :
All risen since that flattering time,
When Drapier's hill appear'd in rhyme.
I am, as now too late I find,
The greatest cully of mankind :
The lowest boy in Martin's school
May turn and wind me like a fool.
How could I form so wild a vision,
To seek, in deserts, Fields Elysian?
To live in fear, suspicion, variance,
With thieves, fanatics, and barbarians?

* Medals were cast, many signs hung up, and handkerchiefs made with devices, in honour of the Dean, under the name of M. B. Drapier. F.

But here my lady will object;

Your deanship ought to recollect,

That, near the knight of Gosford plac'd,

Whom you allow a man of taste,
Your intervals of time to spend
With so conversable a friend,
It would not signify a pin
Whatever climate you were in.

'Tis true, but what advantage comes
To me from all a usurer's plumbs;
Though I should see him twice a-day,
And am his neighbour cross the way;
If all my rhetoric must fail

To strike him for a pot of ale?

Thus, when the learned and the wise
Conceal their talents from our eyes,
And from deserving friends withhold
Their gifts, as misers do their gold;
Their knowledge to themselves confin'd
Is the same avarice of mind;

Nor makes their conversation better,
Than if they never knew a letter.
Such is the fate of Gosford's knight,
Who keeps his wisdom out of sight;
Whose uncommunicative heart

Will scarce one precious word impart :
Still rapt in speculations deep,
His outward senses fast asleep;
Who, while I talk, a song will hum,
Or, with his fingers, beat the drum;
Beyond the skies transports his mind,
And leaves a lifeless corpse behind.

But, as for me, who ne'er could clamber high, To understand Malebranche or Cambray;